Falling Down
Chapter 10
Moments after the wheels left the runway he felt the familiar shutter of hydraulic motors pulled the landing gear into the belly of the Boeing 767. It was 12:45 am early Sunday morning as he left New York behind. Touchdown in Guayaquil Ecuador was seven hours from now. There he'd have a five hour lay over and then on to Isla Baltra in the Galapagos Islands.
It had been a strange week. His life was becoming more and more complicated. He could be honest, the complexity was bound up in the four who dominated his life: his mother, his daughter, his editor and finally, his partner.
He thought about the task that arose during the week preparing for a simple two week vacation. In retrospect, there has been a lot more to do, than pack and bid the world adieu.
His play list on his phone was extensive to say the least. He liked to put it on random, while the songs were there in the first place because he liked them, finding the right sound for the moment was not always easy. He used the setting as a musical roulette. It make him smile, and he'd think, 'Oh, I forgot I even had that one.'
Mick Jagger was belting out, "You can't always get what you want, you can't always get what you want, you can't always get what you want, but if try sometimes, well, you might just find, you get what need." He pushed the pause button and wondered if there something in on the Galapagos Islands that he needed, something he would find. The familiar ache was there, but he wanted to hope for awhile and not just ache. He pushed the button and let Mick wail away.
When the song ended, he pulled out the earbuds and found he'd mentally circled back just one of the four women. His partner and her send off. She had insisted on taking him to the airport, even if it was late and she had work the next day. Said she, she would feel better. They had not talked a lot about the trip, once she declined the invitation. He was not upset by her choice, just resigned to the fact that he would be doing a lot of traveling alone. He would not mope. Time was a commodity that suddenly felt very precious. He wanted to live, to breath, to pander to his wanderlusts. There was so much to see.
After she told him to have a good time, he headed for TSA, when she called out his name. Before he could turn around, he felt her arms lasso him, her fingers flat against his mid-section. She hugged him tightly, laying her head against his back. It was like the night in the Ferrari. Again she held him longer than he'd expected. She mumbled into his shoulder, "Castle, time zones are close. If you have any reception, please call me...when you can."
When she let go. He turned to look at her, he saw her eyes were misty and her jaw was set. He thought she might cry, "Beckett are you OK?"
She shook her head no. "I'm just glad you get to go. I really am..."
When she paused, he pressed, "But?"
"I...I would just feel better if you...never mind." She held her palms out towards him and shook her hands back and forth, "Have a good trip Castle. For me." And then she turned and headed for the parking lot.
He was absolutely confused by this version of her. Stonewall Beckett. She'd been all over the map for the whole week. Not once had he attempted to push her or to change her mind. He knew it was a long shot to begin with, but, she had just been...he stopped trying to think of the word. He didn't have a word to fit her moods, her pensive staring off into space, nor her long periods of silence. All a mystery.
Then there was Gina. She was simply driving him crazy. Her tormenting was on another level. Suddenly she needed to fix their long over due life as a couple. She repeatedly told him she didn't want him to be alone. Then she was angry at his refusal to let her travel with him. She'd accused him of ignoring those who cared for him, persistently blaming Beckett for overshadowing everyone and everything. They had gotten into it, a number of time, he'd said things he should've left alone, upsetting her even more. Gina uncharacteristically cried, again apologizing for her many mistakes when they were married. When she calmed down, her mood shifted, telling him she'd always be there for him. Anytime, any place. Just call. Even if he didn't care for her anymore, her bed was his bed. She was offering herself as comfort, somewhere between an ex-wife and a courtesan.
Martha and Alexis were not happy with him traveling, and certainly not alone. Both had made sure he understood their opposition. "You shouldn't go...It's too soon after treatment...You need to be near your doctor," and on and on. He repeatedly explained his condition was not a fever and not an infection. He didn't need a tether the length of Manhattan to be safe. Anywhere on the planet would do...and it was only for two weeks.
They whined and complained, but in the end, gave up.
His one ally was his oncologist, who was not concerned about travel. In fact he encouraged it. But he decided on a slight change in their treatment approach. The ablation was the best line of defense for his condition based on the size and number of his tumors. What he was not comfortable with was a single therapy. When he returned, they'd do another round of diagnostics, see how the liver looked and more than likely begin intravenous -chemo. For now they'd rely on the oral version.
At this moment, all those things were for later, and they collectively stayed behind in New York. He was off to visit the land where Darwin did his work. He was going to see the writers workshop for the framing the Origins of the Species. A much different setting than a library or a his study. It was going be great.
XX
After walking back to her car, she got in and simply sat. Staring at the lights, listening to the sounds of the airport, a world on the move. It was late, but by no means the middle of the night for her. She had dropped him off an hour and a half before departure. But now she felt like a deflated pool toy. So she sat in the cruiser and studied the airport and city lights across the river.
She thought about her impulse to hold him as he left, to encircle him in her arms, like a bundle of sticks. As she did she took in his scent, her face near the nape of his neck. His hair smelled clean. His after shave swirled around her. She knew it was just, just her need to control, the want to keep him close and safe. In truth, she did simply not want him, to go. Period.
Her attention turned to a loose thread in her sport top she wore. She tugged at it and an old memory flooded in. A few years ago she'd worn a favorite blouse. It's colors worked well with a number outfits. It was both beautiful and comfortable, always solicited compliments.
One day she was riding the elevator down from the 3rd floor and saw a loose thread, she pulled at it. But it was not just a thread, it was the main thread for the sleeve, and she watched her favorite top unravel from wrist to elbow. She shook her head slowly, knowing instantly what the recollection meant. Castle's disease was a thread in the garment of her life. When it was revealed and pulled, everything about her, like the old sleeve, began to unravel.
She again felt the sting of tears, along with the familiar and reoccurring ache of loss. Whether for this night, or some night in the future, it weighed heavily on her. It hurt. Really hurt. She was coming apart, and she was alone. The undoing frightened her so much, she knew, without a doubt that she needed help.
She wiped away the tears and picked up her phone. She had two things to do. First a text: Hey, through TSA?
You bet, the pre-check was worth it. You already home?
No
Where are you?
Still here. Sitting in my car.
Beckett. What's up?
You know the answer to that.
I'm sorry...I burdened you.
You have never been a burden...OK sometimes.
LOL. Wish you were with me.
Wish I was too. Making a living sucks.
I meant it. I would have been a gentleman.
You've always been a gentleman Castle.
Did you just bump your head?
She laughed, I can't give you a compliment?
You did bump your head.
Stop
Beckett I have to go, they've started seating.
You mean seating the richies?
Really. Richies? Not a word!
Fat Cats?
This fat cat has got to go. I'll be in touch.
Safe trip - KB
Her screen continued to glow, but he was gone. She leaned her head back against the head rest, sighed and mumbled, "Buck up."
After a few minutes she turned her attention back to the phone. She scrolled down and found the number, and then dialed. The line was answered on the third ring.
A monotone voice began, "You have reached Dr. Burke's office, if this is an emergency…"
After the phone went through its instructions, she chose the last option of leaving a message.
"Dr. Burke, this is Kate Beckett. I was wondering if you had some space for me this week. I can be reached at this number." She rattled off her cell number. "Thank you doctor."
XX
Manhattan covers 23 square miles, with 1.6 million residence. During business hours, another 2.3 million workers join those who live on the island. As with all big cities, there are many who have missed the American dream, for many reasons. Lower Manhattan is home to the worlds greatest business district, but it is also where the have-nots hide in alleys and clefts of skyscrapers. Many have nothing, beyond the shirts on their backs. They seek help from New York's Department for the Homeless, as well as many private and religious organizations. All these are there for those in need.
Crime is high in the area and include rapes, sexual assaults, robberies, shootings, stabbing and larceny. Police calls from the area are common. A number of the victims of this violent underworld do not survive the acts of crimes that flourish there.
Michael Bishop worked at the Brunswick House. After college and then law school he began working as a corporate lawyer. But the law could not sustain him. He was paid well, but he was not made well. It became evident to him early on, that law in the corporate realm, whether you defended a corporation or sued it, was simply the transferring of assets. That repetitive theater, running the same show over and over, finally ended his law career. It also ended a marriage. He left the field and ended up in seminary. Then he chose to work in the inner-city. He had found his way to New York where the needs, like the City, were great.
The world loves success stories, be it the wining of the a difficult sport event, by sheer determination and hard work, or growing one's person business to a multi-national corporation. The inverse is not so interesting. The recoveries from near perilous falls are not so dramatic. And usually, by the time it happens, the offender, though recovered is alone.
Bishop's work mirrored that of rescue missions in cities all over the world. He was there to listen, to counsel and to assist. The organization offered, food, showers, a laundry service, a bed for a night and lessons about the value of the men and women who found themselves at the bottom. He got to know the people who came in at the end of each day. He learned their stories, their struggles and felt privileged to see some turn around and get their lives together.
At 1 am on Tuesday morning he was was awakened by his phone ringing. The police had responded to a call of a body that had been left in an alley. The victim had some literature in his pockets from Brunswick House. The caller was a detective looking of information on a Bobby Campbell. Did anyone know this man at Brunswick? He was described as a white male, mid-thirties to mid-forties, scar across his right cheek and a large elephant tattoo on his left shoulder. Bishop told the police he knew Bobby. They asked if he would come to the scene, it was two blocks away. He made the short trip, in sadness and silence, lamenting the loss of one of his people.
XX
Kate Beckett had left work early on Monday for a late afternoon appointment with Dr. Burke. Though they had not seen each other for awhile, Burke made a spot for her based on her call and their past together.
Carter Burke served as an independent psychiatrist who assisted police officers for post shooting clearances and other psychological issues that arose from the job. If he or the office felt they needed help after a clearance, his door was always open to them.
After a brief greeting and catch-up, the doctor moved to the business at hand, "What brings you in today Detective?"
The mood changed and she briefly studied her hands, "Sleep."
"You're not sleeping?"
"Yes but...I'm having...frequent interruptions...find it hard to get back to sleep. I'm edgy and exhausted."
"How long has this been going on?"
"Two, maybe three weeks."
"Before that, were you sleeping OK?"
"I was," she smiled, "you know besides work calls."
"Has something changed?"
"Dreams...dreams that jolt me awake, sweaty...heart thumping."
"Have you ever had these types of dreams before?"
"A couple times. Once as a child, some dog was after me, but then after...Mom's death, I had lots of nightmares."
"Are these similar?"
"Yeah, their like I'm running, away from something, but I'm in sand and my feet won't move...whatever it is, is going to catch me, I can't stop it. I'm filled with hopelessness...and fear."
"Is that the dream, or the impression from the dream?"
"Not the dream, the sense of...the feeling from the dream."
"Tell about them."
She sighed, weighted down by the task, "They all involve my partner..." She went quiet, putting her head down.
"Is your partner still…"
"Castle? Yeah he's still with me..." She sucked in air, like she was hiccuping.
Burke sat silent for a few minutes, something in her words had tripped her. He watched as her breathing calmed, "What happens in the dreams?"
Her eyes were shiny, starting to brim over, "It's the same...every time, he dies."
"And in these dreams, you witness whatever causes his death, but you can't help?
She shook her head, "It's worse...it's always my fault."
They sat in quiet for a minute or more, elbows on the chair arm, chin planted in her hands. As she stared out the window the tears ran down her cheeks.
"Kate, you know, they're only dreams. We can figure this out."
She sat back in the chair, hands folded in her lap now. When she looked up the tears still glistening on her cheeks, "I don't think we can Doctor. He is dying...he has liver cancer."
Carter Burke always expected surprises. Revelations during the treatment of his patients. Secrets are revealed, things that have laid undisturbed for years, even decades. Those things still retain the power to erode the heart. That take hold of the person, recuse joy and love from their life. But he had also found that when these dark things are laid out in the light, their power is gone. They shrivel away. Their victims are set free.
But death. Death is it's own special culprit. The ultimate thief. It cannot be reasoned with, or talked away. It steals time and leaves the carnage of broken hearts in its path. It never looks back. It is both cruel and relentless.
He knew instinctively what ailed his patient. Her heart was broken. Sleep would not grant her it's much needed gift. Instead she was handed nightmares. A person she cared for was being taken away. She would be alone sooner than she ever imagined.
"Have you told him about your dreams."
Barely audible, "No."
"Do you think you should?"
A whisper, "No." Then she cleared her throat, "He has enough on his plate, he doesn't need a sniveling partner on hands."
"Tell me about your partnership."
"What do you mean?"
"How do you see this partnership of yours?"
She tried to smile, but it came out poorly and her face instead broke. With a crack in her voice, "He's my best friend...and," waving her hand around, "As you can see, I'm freaking out."
"Kate, friendship is worth freaking out over, it's a rare gift."
With that, the dam broke. Her shoulder began to shake with sobs. With stuttered words, "I don't know...if I can….go on...without him."
Burke stood and moved a box of tissues to the arm of her chair. She pulled several free and placed them over her eyes.
This interlude of sorrow took some time. He let her cry. Let the ache express itself in a torrent of tears. When she regained her composure, he spoke softly. "We're about out of time. I want you to come back later this week, Thursday if it will work for you?" She shook her head up and down. "If you're not on call I'd like you to take a sleep aide, an antihistamine, like Tylenol or Advil PM. It will help you sleep. Two should be enough, it might make you a little groggy. Will you try that for me?"
In a small voice, "Yes."
"Also if you would, I'd like you to write down your thoughts, emotional responses to things. Keep a record of anything you think is notable, you're reactions to the everyday things of life. Then we'll talk about it, see if we can find come clues. Ways to help you process and cope. OK?"
"I'll do that doctor." Her words still not coming easily.
"My receptionist is gone, but call tomorrow and we'll work out the time for Thursday."
Through a watery smile, she nodded, "Thank you Doctor."
XX
Later that evening, her eyes still burned. She had cried again when she got home. She still had the post crying shortness of breath. She just shook her head, 'What a mess I am.'
As she lay in bed reading, his text came. It was about 10:15 that evening: One bar of reception. Hope you get this. RC. Attached was a photo of a beautiful beach.
She could only muster a weak smile. But she was certainly happy to hear from him.
She quickly texted, Hope you find the missing link. KB
XX
As an elementary school student he had been fascinated with Darwin. The studying, note taking, but mostly the solving of the unknown. In high school he had taken a couple of biology courses, his interest in the exploratory science pulled at him. Still he liked English and writing and made it his major in college. But he still took the science courses. One of his college goals had been to go, and maybe not necessarily follow in the steps, but at least visit the world of Darwin. The Galapagos.
When his plane landed, he took in the rich tropical air, though nearer the equator, it still reminded him of Hawaii. He recalled that even though Darwin had not spent a great deal of time here, it ultimately had a significant impact on his work.
Darwin had written about the newness of the islands. A place where life that grew out of the oceans. It made Castle's heart beat fast. He wanted to turn and say to her, "See Beckett, I told you this place was magic." But that was not to be. His friend had her own life to live. Fate had ordained that they would briefly intersect. In truth it would be more of a ricochet off each other. He steeled himself. A new reality was coming and he had to to accept it. Despite what was in his heart. The truth was, there would not be time for love, nor time to be melded into one.
He took another deep breath and willed himself to focus on what he had. Not on what could not have. This was not the time for self-pity.
Darwin had traveled the world, but the Galapagos had been the point of nexus of his theory. Ironically it would not be the convulsion of magma that made these island, nor it's unique and impressive tortoises. It came down to the Finch, the little bird with it's adaptive beak.
In a conversation with an island leader, Darwin was shown that the tortoises had different shells, depending on their island of origin. While it interested Darwin, it did not break open his case for the theory of evolution.
Castle was again a child in a toy shop. He was here to see the world through the eyes of one of his childhood hero's, and that he would do. But he was also here to do the final editing of Heat Rises. To give the book the edge it needed. He felt certain that it would be his third and final book in the series. He was wrong about most of his assumptions on life.
The plan was to spend four to six hours a day editing. Then the balance of each day in the garden of the Origin of the Species.
As he roamed one of the beaches on Baltra Island, he snapped a picture as the sun was setting. When he looked down at his phone, he notice he had a single bar of reception. He decided to try a text and send the photo to Beckett, here or not, she would have loved this place.
When his phone immediately pinged back her text, he laughed. This he knew, his missing link was not on the Galapagos Islands, it was in New York and it's name, was Katherine Beckett.
AN: A thanks to each of you for reading my story. I appreciate your many comments, favorites and followings. Madreag